Did you enjoy the tour?
by UnsureHistorian
Summary: Shepard and Liara reminisce post-Shadow Broker, and learn a little about life, death, and the love they share.


"You've done more than most. There wouldn't be a man, woman, or child left on Horizon if not for you."

Shepard does not answer, but moves slowly towards the silver coffee table, setting down the metal tags Liara has returned to him. He sits, heavily, and stares at them. Those had used to mean something to him; he had been so proud to call himself an Alliance soldier – what was he now?

A killer? A savior?

Finally, he looks up.

"I saved some of them, Liara; not enough. And the collectors will keep hitting colonies until I stop them."

Liara looks away from him and sighs internally. Shepard always does this. He is so quick to take on responsibility, to take the burdens of others upon himself and bear them with equanimity. Never to complain or resent the aid he so freely gave, nor to cast recriminations on those he has helped. As forgiving as he is with others, he is equally harsh on himself, always seeing the faults in his successes, never the triumphs. He has always been like this, ever since she met him. It infuriates her. But what can she do? Shepard is the most stubborn individual she has ever met; he is always willing to give others a second chance, but against himself he is adamant.

Fish swim lazily about the aquarium Cerberus installed in Shepard's quarters. She is honestly surprised to see that Shepard has actually bothered to stock the tank with fish; it seems completely at odds with the spartan aesthetic he had presented on the first _Normandy_.

Shepard continues to gaze thoughtfully at his old tags. She walks over and sits down beside him. Silently, she takes his hand, and turns his head toward her with the other.

* * *

><p>Liara closes her eyes and breathes deep; she feels her senses expanding: outwards, to feel the cold embrace of Normandy's metal skin, the warmth of Shepard's hand in her own; inward, feeling the movement of her lungs, the slow, steady pulse of her heart. The warmth of Shepard's hand spreads up her arm and into her core. Suddenly, there are two heartbeats, two pulses; she begins to feel as Shepard feels: fear, love, devotion, anguish. Like the fluttering of a small bird, she feels his presence; it grows stronger, until she feels him reaching out, and she reaches in kind. There is a sense of completion, of returning to a whole that was lost, and then, tentatively, she hears:<p>

_Liara_.

* * *

><p><em>Shepard.<em>

He is standing now on the beach of some ocean, as the sun sets and turns red the sea. He notices, suddenly, as one does in a dream, that he is holding someone's hand; her fingers are interlaced with his. He does not want this to end – would that he could simply stand here with her, lose himself in the simplicity of living. But, unwillingly, images spring into his mind: Saren, Geth, Sovereign, the Reapers; he feels weighted down, like someone has tied an anchor to him. The colors around him begin to fade, and his grip loosens; he feels her fingers slip between his own, they are almost gone.

_No, Shepard. You are safe here, for now. You do not need to wake yet._

Liara feels him slipping, and pulls him back. He is weighed down by so much loss, so many burdens.

She steps into his arms, and kisses him.

* * *

><p>It is his first day. He has slept in his PT uniform.<p>

_They say that in the army-_

The sergeant is banging on their door. He slips out of the bed and replaces the covers.

_The pay is mighty fine._

He grabs his shoes and runs out the door with his roommate, lining up against the opposing wall with the rest of his squad.

_They give you a hundred dollars-_

He stands with the rest of his class, in their dress uniforms, cheering and hugging and laughing. _Thank __God_, he thinks. They've made it: they are officers now, not cadets.

_And take back ninety-nine._

N7 training: Master Sergeant Rymer forces his head underwater for the fifth time. _I __must __have __been __crazy __to __volunteer __for __this_.

Forty-five faces look back at him. Some are distrustful, others bored, or disgusted, or simply too tired to care about a brand new lieutenant, a butter-bar. _My __God, __I__'__m __in __charge __of __these __people._

He is standing beneath the rings of a planet, the first time he has set foot on an alien world.

Now, he is sitting in the rubble of a bombed-out police station, singing a soldier's song and watching cold death around him with unseeing eyes.

Together they drift through the brightly lit universe of Shepard's mind, traveling through time and memory. Moments float by, like tiny motes of dust in the morning sun. Liara feels herself pulled along by the current of Shepard's life.

Eden Prime, where his entire life changed course. Ashley Williams. The strong, uncompromising woman for whom – even now – Shepard holds a deep and abiding professional respect. A respect which Liara envies, even in the knowledge that she holds Shepard's love.

Shepard sees the Citadel, in all its majesty and squalor; the petty maneuverings of the council.

Udina.

Becoming the first human spectre. Fear, vindication, anxiety.

Garrus, his brother. Tali, his little sister.

Meeting Liara for the first time; the memories blur, coming faster now. The race against Saren, tracking him across half a galaxy, fighting him. Virmire, meeting Sovereign and discovering the true nature of Saren's betrayal. Kaiden's death.

She feels something, an absence of thought, a singularity, and the path of Shepard's life spirals down towards it. It scrapes at the edge of her mind, at the very limits of her thoughts, and it is sharp, and jagged, like broken glass.

She feels herself being pulled down and around, circling, like water around a drain.

The Battle of the Citadel. The last, climactic fight with Saren. Looking Death in the face as shards of Sovereign rain down over the Citadel.

Being sent to fight Geth, disgusted at the Council's inactivity.

Joker shouts over the comm: "Brace for evasive maneuvers."

Telling Liara to go, to leave him aboard a doomed vessel.

Walking through the ruined remnants of his faithful ship, shoving Joker into an escape pod and pressing the button.

And then she sees a small boy.

_Please, Liara, I don't want to go there. Please don't make me go back._

He is just as she always imagined: a handsome child, but not extraordinary; he is well shaped, athletic, but not muscular; everything about him is nondescript, liminal – except the eyes. The eyes are the same: storm-grey, like the sea. Eyes which, even as a child, seem to know too much, see too much, and are troubled by their knowledge.

She kneels down, and takes the boy's head in her hands.

_It will be all right. I am here now._

She leans forward, and kisses him on the brow.

He looks at her – What do they see, those eyes?

He nods, slowly, and takes her hand. Together, they walk into the darkness of his memory.

* * *

><p>He is cold, so cold. He feels his life hissing its way out of his suit, leaking like blood from the punctured hose. The horizon approaches, and he sees the unknown vessel destroying the last remnants of the <em>Normandy<em>. He drifts down towards the surface, and he knows that his life will soon be over. The crew has escaped, though, and that gives him some comfort. In the suit, the air becomes thin, and he begins to have trouble thinking. There is a blue woman, her face drifting before him. _Liara._ He tries to cry out, but his lungs are empty, and there is only pain. Pain throughout his body, every bit of him is on fire, and he tries to scream, but can't – he has no air. He closes his eyes for the last time.

* * *

><p>He runs his hand across his face, and looks up into the sky – a sky of purer blue than any he could imagine. There is warmth in the air, and the smell of salt; he is near the sea, for he can hear the breakers crashing against the shore. He looks around at the golden fields which stretch out to the horizon, rolling in waves broken only by the occasional stand of cypress. Pushing his way slowly through the grain, he comes upon a path, and decides to follow it; it seems to head towards the sea. How long he walks he cannot truly say, but eventually the path leads up a hill, through the olive trees that grow on the slopes. A small house abides atop the hill, the gentle sun glinting from its windows. The door is wooden, and beautiful. He reaches out and grasps the handle, but does not open it. He turns to look again across the fields. There is wind on his face, and in the trees. It ripples the golden fields with its passage, and Shepard is content.<p>

* * *

><p>There is pain again, and he forces open his eyes. He sees the sterile whiteness of fluorescent light, surgical instruments, a woman in a white uniform with a strange symbol. <em>Cerberus<em>. She is saying something to him; she is beautiful, but cold, like her surroundings. She turns away and seems to be speaking to someone else. Shepard does not care. He wants to close his eyes again. He wants to rest. He reaches out his hand, trying to find the door, but it is gone. The golden fields do not appear, and Shepard is alone.

* * *

><p>Liara sees Shepard waking again, to more pain and conflict. Fighting his way out of the Cerberus base, meeting Jacob and Miranda. Beginning his life again, reconnecting with those he has left behind for two years. Trying to rebuild his shattered life.<p>

She feels tears in her eyes, and Shepard's hand on hers. She opens her eyes, and sees him. He traces the line of her face, and she wipes a single tear from his.

* * *

><p>She is so beautiful. Her eyes reflect the starlight from the window overhead, and he is reminded of the power and majesty of the asari; beautiful and mysterious. He leans forward, and kisses her.<p>

She lays her head upon his shoulder, and he puts his arm around her. He feels her breathing, her warmth. They sit together, and Shepard is content.

**UH**

_My sincerest thanks to Atiaran for giving invaluable assistance in finishing this story._


End file.
